or so I'd like to think.... even though it does make me wonder why I'm now suddenly being plagued by a series of bizarre moments...beginning with my short lived joy at having found a place to stay. Taks' benevolent 'mi casa es su casa' over hugs as he left for Columbia was apparently a limited instruction, as the one additional house guest (I had bedroom privileges) turned into two much to my consternation. The next day I return home to an open door, and even before my upward tilt verifying the 27 atop the door is complete, my brain has to grapple with the sight of a strange woman bearing down on me... 'You must be Apara', she smiles warmly... 'I must...' I falter weakly. It turns out to be upstairs neighbour and husband, deeply perturbed about the missing Internet access. It takes my growling stomach several minutes to comprehend that the crows in the study, spilling over into the kitchen is trying valiantly to restore said lost connection, although I am somewhat stymied by the assumption that I might have the missing answer. I still haven't quite understood why the upstairs neighbours were downstairs, but my stomach loudly insisted that it didn't really care.
Weird got weirder with several rather cryptic messages... comments left on this very blog. One of them in Cyrillic, the other longer than the post by several paragraphs, responding most inappropriately to my post on American absurdity in the news with stinging commentary on Obama's health care fiasco, with a threatening sign off.... more to come! Why would anyone want to spam a blog? What is going on??
A stray newspaper on the bus catches my eye, and I'm captivating by what I shall call a personal ad?
"Male and Ticklish? Earn £100+ p/h. Genuinely ticklish guys 18-40 for taking part in project where your ticklishness is tested. No nudity required. Cash £££."
Sadly, my junk just ain't good enough to research the matter further, and I just leave myself to much speculation on the sort of project that might entail such a request, for the remainder of my bus ride. I have to admit, I'm also wondering at the mechanics... £100 an hour? To be 'tickled' for an entire hour? or longer? or do they do it in short bursts? Siiigh. So many questions, and nary an answer in sight...
My weird week continues at my flat share, my attempts to rummage through the fridge for dinner rudely interrupted by the sight of tub upon tub of Flora. When I'd left that morning, I could have sworn, there were just 2 tubs. One of the cholesterol combating Flora and the other of the vile tasting Olive oil spread... I blink but they don't vanish. I shut the fridge. Frown. Open the fridge. The entire top shelf is neatly stacked with tubs of spread. Double layered. I did notice House guest/flat mate 1 and surprise house guest/flat mate 2 eating bread, but surely, surely, 14 tubs of Flora isn't really required to butter however lavishly a couple of dozen croissants?? Maybe they went for the tickle project instead of their training course??
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